Double-Dare O’Toole (8 page)

The sound of running water came from a room off the kitchen. “That means he's up and at 'em,” Angie said. “My husband probably hears me out here talking up a storm, and he wants to see if I finally lost my marbles and I'm talking to myself.”

Fex didn't have much time. He had to get it off his chest before Angie's husband came out for his breakfast.

“Angie, I've got this friend,” he began.

She nodded. “The same one can't resist the double-dare?” she asked.

“Yeah. The same one.” Fex chose his words with care. “Anyway, this kid did a jerky thing. He has a friend. A girl. He likes her a lot. They're good friends. You know, nothing romantic, just friends.”

“That's good,” Angie said. “Kids your age should have lots of friends, both sexes. Makes for a good time.”

“Anyway,” Fex went on, “this kid decides he's going to put the moves on this girl. Just to see what it's like. Only he doesn't tell her, ask her or anything. He just goes ahead. And she gets mad.”

“What's this ‘put the moves on' mean?” Angie said. “You mean like he's gonna make a pass?”

“Yeah. A pass. He tries to kiss her.”

Angie nodded. “That's a pass, all right. No matter what they call it, it all boils down to the same thing.”

Fex could hear Angie's husband opening and closing drawers in the bedroom.

“Anyway, this girl gets mad and she tells the kid he must be cuckoo. What I want to know is, what does the kid do to make friends again with the girl?”

“Well, I think he oughta tell her he's sorry. I mean”—Angie studied his face—“he shouldn't have done that. He had no right. Right? But boys been trying to kiss girls as long as I been around. Probably before too. Sometimes girls like to be kissed. Other times they figure it's not the right time yet. But this kid didn't mean any harm. If this girl's really a friend,” Angie said, very serious, “it'll be all right. She'll understand. And maybe next time your friend gets the urge to put the moves on a girl, just to see what all the fuss is about, why, maybe he oughta find some older girl, somebody who's ready, who knows the score. Know what I mean? That way she doesn't get sore, and your friend, maybe he picks up a coupla pointers along the way. A little practice never hurt anybody.”

“Thanks a lot.” Fex jumped up. He felt he couldn't sit still another minute. “For everything, Angie. I have to go.”

“O.K. Glad you stopped by, like I said. You're a good kid, Fex.” Angie put her arm around his shoulders. “You're all right. One thing before you go. I think you oughta tell your friend he shouldn't rush things. He's got lots of time. Maybe if he took it slow, it might work better.”

They exchanged a long look. “I'll tell him,” Fex said. “Thanks again.” He raced down the stairs with a light heart.

15

When he got home, they were all finishing breakfast.

“Where've you been?” his mother asked. “I was beginning to worry.”

“I left a note,” Fex said.

“I know. But church must've been over long ago.”

“I rode around some. Went over to see Angie.”

“Help yourself to some eggs, then. And bacon. I put a plate for you in the oven so it would stay warm.”

No sense in telling her he'd already had breakfast.

“Pete,” his mother said, “please clear the table. Jerry, go wash your face. Pete, run those plates under cold water. There's no time to clean up now. You can do that when we get back.”

Fex waited, hoping she'd issue a couple of orders to his father, who was reading the papers, muttering occasionally under his breath about something the President had said. She did not.

It always seemed to Fex that his mother didn't need to take an office-management course. The way she managed them all right here at home gave her plenty of on-the-job training. She did just fine on her own, he thought.

The telephone rang.

“I'll get it,” Pete said. “It's probably for me, anyway.” He came back. “It's for you, clod,” he said.

“Does he mean me?” Jerry asked.

“No, he means me.” Fex went to the phone. “Hello,” he said.

“I'm having a party,” a gruff voice said. “Friday night.”

“Who is this?” Fex asked.

“Barney. Who else? It's boy-girl. A boy-girl party.” Barney waited for this news to sink in. “You're invited,” he said at last.

The last boy-girl party Fex had been to had been about six years ago. When he was six. He remembered it clearly. After the birthday kid had opened the presents, they'd thrown food around for a while. Then the kid's mother brought out the cake and ice cream, which kept everybody quiet for as long as it took to eat. Then they'd all gone home. He suspected Barney had a different kind of boy-girl party in mind.

“Friday?” Fex said. “What time Friday?”

“Seven to ten.” Barney lowered his voice. “But maybe my mom and her boyfriend will go to the movies. Then we can stretch it out a little, right? Who knows?” His charged laughter bounded over the wire.

“Call you back,” Fex said. He wanted to think this over.

“Better make it quick. If you can't come, I'm asking somebody else. You got about two minutes to call back. Otherwise forget it. Just forget the whole thing.”

“What's the hurry?”

“I hafta know now. Right away. My mom has to buy the grub, all like that.”

“Who else is coming?”

“How do I know? Everybody I ask is coming, that's who. Not too many parties you get asked to where the kid's mother goes out to the movies, right?” Again Barney's laugh resounded.

“O.K. I'll get back to you right away.” Fex hung up. Only last week he'd heard his parents discussing a party to which they'd been invited. “I don't like those people,” his father had said. “I don't want to be under obligation to people I don't like. If we go to their house, we're obliged to have them to ours. No, let's not go.” And they hadn't.

Fex didn't like Barney. Not really. He knew he should say no to his invitation. On the other hand, he wanted to go. Very much. He fought temptation, and temptation, as usual, won.

“Ma, Barney Barnes is having a party Friday night. Can I go?” She was on her way out the door, on her way to church.

“Barney Barnes?” she said, frowning. “I guess so. But I thought you didn't like him. You told me you didn't like him.”

Why did she always remember things like that? Why did he have such a big mouth?

“Oh, he's O.K. He's not such a bad guy,” Fex said lamely.

“Then go if you want to. As long as it's not late.”

Fex waited until the car had disappeared around the corner. He called Barney to say he could come to the party. Then he dialed Audrey's number.

“Yup,” Em answered. She liked to answer the phone.

“Let me speak to Audrey,” Fex said. “Please.”

“Who is it?” Em said. “Is this Fex?”

“Just let me speak to her, all right?”

Em put the phone down. Fex could hear it hit the floor. When she came back, she said, “She says she's out.”

“She's out?” Fex said.

“Yup. She says she's out. I told her it was Fex, and she says she's out. That's what she says.”

Em hung up. She had said what she had to say and that was that.

All right for you, he thought. If that's the way you want it. He went to the kitchen and took out the warm plate his mother had left in the oven for him. He was halfway through the eggs and bacon before he remembered he'd already had breakfast.

No wonder he felt sick to his stomach.

And, although it had started to rain, he got back on his bike and rode around some more. He thought about riding past Audrey's house just so he could thumb his nose at it and decided against the idea. He liked riding in the rain. It made him feel clean. He rode for a long time. By the time he got home, the rain was coming down in sheets. The car was in the driveway. They were home from church already. He pedaled into the garage and sat, dripping, until his mother opened the door and told him to come in immediately, before he caught his death.

16

How do you catch your death? Do you reach out and grab it or does it touch you on the shoulder and say, “Here I am.”? Fex lay listening to the rain beat against the house. It was Monday morning.

He felt old. Saturday night's wrestling match on Audrey's couch had aged him. And the momentary lift he'd gotten from yesterday's visit to Angie had worn off. This was his week to shine in the principal's office.

“You awake?”

“No, I'm sleeping with my eyes open.”

“I've got this ringing in my ears,” Jerry said. “Maybe it's from sleeping in this high altitude. Want to change places?”

“That ringing comes from you practicing on your machine,” Fex told him. “That'd make anybody's ears ring.”

“Hang on.” One of Jerry's long, flat feet stuck out over the edge of the bunk, followed by the other. “I've got a neat new tune I want to try out on you.”

Things were ganging up on him. Fex got out of bed fast. “Not now,” he said. “It's late. If you start the week off late, you keep running out of time for the whole rest of it. It's murder when that happens.”

Jerry slid to the floor and stood scratching himself. “If we didn't have Saturday and Sunday off, Monday wouldn't be so bad,” he said.

“You might be right,” Fex agreed.

It turned out to be a long day. Every time he rounded a corner, Fex thought he might run into Audrey. He half wanted to and half didn't. As it turned out, he didn't see her until lunch period. He heard her laughing. She was hanging out with a bunch of girls. She was telling them something. They were all laughing. He was sure they were laughing at him. Probably Audrey was giving them a blow-by-blow account of Saturday night. He went back to his home room. Ms. Arnow was at her desk.

“My heavens, Fex,” she said, looking at her watch, “you're awfully early. Class doesn't start for another fifteen minutes.”

“I know,” he said. He sat down and read his English assignment. He read the same paragraph ten times and didn't know what he'd read.

When the last bell rang. Fex busied himself rummaging through his locker, pretending he'd lost something. Barney passed, stopped and thumped Fex on the back.

“Things are shaping up good,” he said. “Pretty good. Everything's A-O.K. for Friday.” He winked and went his way.

Holy smokes, Fex thought. Is this a party or a missile lift-off?

At last the halls were quiet. It was time to check in at Mr. Palinkas' place.

“Fex.” It was Audrey. She must've been waiting for him. Down at the end of the hall, Harold, the janitor, swabbed down the floors.

“Hi,” Fex said. “I called you yesterday.”

“I know. I told Em to tell you I was out. I didn't want to talk to you.”

“I've got to report to the principal's office,” Fex said, edging past her. Yesterday he'd wanted to say he was sorry. Now he wasn't sure.

“I'm sorry about Saturday night,” Audrey said.

His mouth dropped open.
“You're
sorry?” he said.

“Yes. I shouldn't have said you were cuckoo. You weren't. You were a jerk. No boy ever kissed me before. How do I know what to expect? You made me look like a jerk too.” Audrey was getting excited. “Why the heck didn't you let me in on what you were going to do? You shouldn't have sneaked up on me like that. That's what made me mad.”

“What did you want me to do?” Now he was mad. “Hang a sign on me saying I was going to try to kiss you? What kind of a turkey do you take me for?”

And because he was afraid she might tell him, he escaped, running down the hall toward Mr. Palinkas' office.

“Slow down, bud!” Harold hollered. “Time for you to be outa here anyway. Clear out. No damn sense cleaning up when they're gonna get dirty tomorrow. No damn sense at all.” Harold was not a cheerful man.

Fex knocked on Mr. Palinkas' door.

“Yes?” a voice said.

When he opened the door, Mr. Palinkas looked at him over the top of his glasses as if they were total strangers.

“Yes?” he said again.

“It's me, sir. Fex O'Toole.” Still Mr. Palinkas looked blank. “Oh, yes,” he finally said. “Mrs. Timmons is waiting for you.” He turned back to his work. Feeling a strange disappointment that Mr. Palinkas didn't remember him, Fex tapped on Mrs. Timmons' door.

“Hello, Fex,” she said. At least
she
remembered him. “You're right on the button. Terrible day, isn't it? I'd like you to mimeograph these fliers for me. You know how to operate the machine?” He said he did.

“O.K. Make fifty copies, please. Then see if you can locate Harold and ask him where he keeps the masking tape.”

Fex made fifty copies announcing the book fair to be held June 7 and 8. Donations gladly accepted. Each sheet fell with a slight whoosh into the bin. He liked being here, alone in a place usually jammed with people. Then he found Harold and told him what he wanted. Harold fumbled at his pockets and came up with a ring of keys. “Damn woman,” Harold said. “Couldn't find her nose on her face if it wasn't for me.” He shuffled to the supply closet. Fex shuffled behind. “Stay out,” Harold ordered. “This here is only open to me.” He was like a dog defending his territory, Fex thought.

“Tell her this is it.” Harold handed him two rolls of tape. “We're out. She don't order more, we don't have more. Tell her that.” He turned the key in the lock and went back to his job.

Fex wondered if Harold had a wife, children maybe. Maybe he smiled at them and said pleasant things when he was home. Perhaps he even laughed. Probably not. Harold was always the same. Sour. A terrible way to be.